


Queen of Light

by pseudosmodingium



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Body Horror, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Saints, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-11 18:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12941187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudosmodingium/pseuds/pseudosmodingium
Summary: What happens when you ask to catch a glimpse of your true love’s face? You shouldn’t, in case a supernatural creature is there to overhear your wish and twist it in its favor.The Winchester brothers and Castiel work a case in Minnesota where a few people had to learn this the hard way and lost not only their life but also their eyes. They soon learn that Saint Lucy is behind the killings and in order to defeat her, Dean has to face his feelings for Cas.





	Queen of Light

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't remember the Winchesters ever fighting saints but I thought this would be really cool and as it is December now, I wanted to have a fic with Saint Lucy as the bad guy in it (Saint Lucy's day is December 13th).
> 
> But a few things first:  
> There's, very briefly, Dean/some random dude, but it's already over when the story begins, so nothing explicit.  
> The poem in the beginning is inspired by an actual Swedish verse (lacking its anti-feminism) and I apologize in advance for my poor poetry skills. It's only in the beginning. You won't have to endure it a second time.
> 
> So, if you're still with me: enjoy!

_Saint Lucy, tender and kind,_  
_Open my eyes and let the mystery unwind_  
_Of whose arms will hold me till the morning light,_  
_My greatest love, true and right._

 

Dean blinks against beams of the low-lying winter sun that make their way through ugly motel room curtains. He gropes for his phone on the nightstand and hits the home button but the screen remains dark. _Shit._ He meant to plug it in the night before. Sam has probably tried to reach him and won’t let him hear the end of it when he gets here.

He drops the dead phone again and instead squints his bleary eyes into focus to read the watch that is still on his wrist and groans when he sees how late it is already.

Slowly, he moves to sit and blindly grabs a piece of clothing from the floor. That’s not his shirt, Dean realizes and throws it over his shoulder. At the second try he has more luck and pulls the black T-shirt over his head. He also puts his boxers back on and then turns to the person still sleeping in his bed.

“Hey, wake up,” he says, with a hand on the guy’s shoulder. “You gotta go.”

The man sighs as he stirs awake and Dean has a feeling of recognition when he rolls onto his back to look at him. So he wasn’t _that_ drunk. Yet he totally blanks out on the guy’s name.

“Morning to you too,” he says and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbles while trying to find his pants. “Dude, listen, I don’t mean to be rude but I really need you to leave now.”

The guy huffs in annoyance and proceeds to get dressed.

“I guess this is yours,” Dean says and hands him a sock.

He tugs it from Dean’s grip and puts on the rest of his clothes. Meanwhile, Dean finds his charger but it takes a while before the phone powers up.

“Are you ready?” Dean asks impatiently.

“Have you seen my keys?” the guy asks instead.

“No… Dude, I really need you to hurry. I’m expecting someone.”

“And you don’t want them to find you with another man early in the morning. Closet case, I understand.”

Dean rolls his eyes at him but doesn’t say anything to deny it.

“There,” he says when he catches a glimpse of something shiny on the table.

“Ah, yes,” the guy says and picks up his keys. “I had fun last night.”

“No stalling,” Dean shuts him down. “Please, leave.”

“Alright,” the guy says and walks over to the door. “Guess we’re not exchanging phone numbers.”

“Bye,” Dean insists and the guy finally takes the hint and leaves the room.

He could kill for a coffee right now. The phone beeps with notifications for missed calls and text messages. Dean scrolls through them without properly reading any. They’re mostly Sam’s input on their current case and updates on when he’s going to be here.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

“Hey,” he greets Sam who hands him a paper cup.

“Coffee?”

“I thought you’d need one,” Sam says.

“You’ve always been my favorite brother,” Dean says and carefully takes a sip, walking further into the room and away from the cold that’s accompanying Sam.

As it turns out, that’s not all his brother brought with him.

The familiar sight of Castiel’s trench coat comes into view and the angel closes the door behind him.

“Cas, what are you doing here?”

“Have you read any of the messages I sent you?” Sam asks.

“My phone died yesterday,” Dean says in defense. “It’s charging now.”

“Where were you last night?” Sam asks and promptly receives an explanation as he looks at the mess of Dean’s clothes and the condom foil on the floor.

“Drink your coffee,” Sam sighs.

“You look unwell,” Cas notes.

“Thanks for the compliment, Cas,” Dean mutters and sits down on the edge of the bed, discreetly pushing the condom wrapper under it with his foot. He squirms to find a more comfortable position. It was a good idea to choose the mattress over one of the wooden chairs.

“Are you in pain?” Cas asks. “I could do something against that.”

Dean raises a hand to keep him at a distance. “It’s just a slight headache. No need to strain yourself.”

It’s not a lie. He’s hungover, so nothing some aspirin can’t heal. But he also doesn’t want Cas to touch him ‘cause he’s afraid the angel could sense what else causes him discomfort. And he certainly doesn’t need him to know that his asshole feels sore.

“Just fill me in on what you’ve got,” he tells Sam.

Sam switches on his tablet and clears his throat.

“We’ve got three mysterious deaths so far in Chisgao County. First one was a man who died of what appears to be a sword wound.”

“Cool,” Dean throws in but Sam ignores the comment.

“The police first suspected his fiancée as it turned out that their marriage had been arranged by her parents but the girl has an alibi.”

“An arranged marriage?” Dean asks. “What century do we live in?”

“It’s still common in non-western cultures,” Cas says.

Dean shakes his head. “What about the other deaths?”

“Two teenagers, a boy and a girl, died shortly after staying at a friend’s house. Both bled to death after their eyes had been ripped out of their faces.”

“Missing eyes? Sounds angelic to me,” Dean says.

“They weren’t burnt so we can rule out angels.”

“Also, most angels have kept their vessels since the Fall. It’s very unlikely for one of them to show their true face to humans,” Cas says.

“What about the friend they were with?”

“Olivia Anderson,” Sam says. “She seemed to be terrified of something when the police interrogated her but she claims not to know anything.”

“Okay, but how are missing eyes and death by sword connected?”

“We don’t know if they are but there has been another incident that happened the night after a wedding which would link it to the first case.”

“Shoot,” Dean says.

“A girl’s eyes were taken after she attended her cousin’s wedding. She even was the one to catch the bride’s bouquet.”

“And how did she go from catching a bunch of flowers to losing her eyes?”

“She says someone took them but she wasn’t able to tell who as, you know, the person or…thing was busy ripping her eyes out.”

“Alright… So what’s the plan? Besides a greasy breakfast for me.”

“I’ll question Olivia in Lindstrom. The dead guy also lived there. You and Cas stay in town and go take a look at her friend’s bodies. The girl who survived also lives here. You pay her a visit. Then you can eat.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue but Sam silences him immediately. “You should take a shower first.”

 

“So, when did you decide to help us with the case?” Dean asks Cas later in the car.

The brothers had gone separate ways a few days earlier—Dean working a minor salt and burn in Wisconsin and Sam giving Jody a hand with a vampire nest. Cas had already left the bunker two weeks prior to do his own thing, as usual, negotiating with other angels and probably getting himself into trouble sooner or later.

“I’ve reached a dead end with the angels,” Cas says. “And I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

Dean swallows hard. He guesses this is Castiel’s way of saying that he missed him. Or them.

“I tried to call you to ask if you’re home or currently on the road but you didn’t answer your phone. Sam told me where you were and he offered to pick me up along the way from Sioux Falls.”

“It’s good to have you here,” Dean says although it’s hard for him to admit.

It’s his way to say _I missed you too._

The Impala’s seat feels especially rough under his ass today and he forgot to take his aspirin. He assumes Cas’s offer to take away his pain still stands but it’s good for him to be reminded of why exactly he’s hurting. Well, mainly because he was drunk enough not to give a shit about thorough prepping. But more importantly it reminds him of what can never be. Without the soreness, his mind could easily slip into daydream-mode and waking from that is usually unpleasant. He doesn’t let himself go there often but it happens anyway and he’s tired of fighting it.

They don’t talk for the rest of the ride to the coroner’s office where Dean introduces them as Special Agents Van Zant and Burns.

Dr. Lundberg leads them into the morgue and pulls the teen’s bodies out of their respective cold chambers.

“As you can see, both of them are missing their eye-balls,” he says. “Ripped from their holes, not cut.”

Dean leans over the girl’s body and tries his best to keep the acid that burns in his throat at bay. Maybe it was a good idea to postpone breakfast.

“Did the attacker use any instruments to remove the eyes?” Cas asks.

“I guess so,” Dr. Lundberg says, “but I couldn’t tell what exactly. Some kind of melon or ice cream spoon perhaps. Whatever it was, they must’ve been careful enough not to cause any injuries besides the ones that came along with tearing apart the arteria ophthalmica, nerves and muscles.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Dean says and wills back down last night’s drinks. “What else can you tell us?”

“Well, I couldn’t find any evidence for self-defense.”

“Maybe the victims were drugged,” Cas says.

“No evidence for that as well.”

“You’re saying they just patiently let someone rip their eyes out?”

“Considering the amount of pain I’d say no, but I can’t proof the opposite either,” Dr. Lundgren says.

Dean takes one last look at the boy’s bland face and then thanks the doctor for his time.

Now that they’ve left the smell of decay and disinfectant behind them, Dean’s getting hungry again but they still have to talk to a girl who was violently deprived of her eyes.

It only takes them five minutes from the North Branch morgue to the Cooper’s house. Tanya’s mother isn’t exactly happy about two FBI agents bothering her daughter who was just released from hospital this morning but Dean assures her they won’t take much of her time.

“She was so happy to be home from school and begin the holidays with a big family party,” Mrs. Cooper says while walking Dean and Cas up the stairs.

“She was having such a good time. That’s the bouquet she caught,” she tells them as they pass a small cabinet with a vase on top.

“Let me just announce you. She’s resting at the moment,” Mrs. Cooper says and disappears behind the door of Tanya’s bedroom.

They hear a few muffled words before Mrs. Cooper opens the door to let them in.

Tanya is sitting on her bed. A bandage on her head is hiding her condition.

“Mrs. Cooper, could you give us a minute alone with you daughter?” Dean asks in a low voice.

She wants to disagree but nods instead and carefully closes the door behind her as she leaves.

Cas has already taken a seat on the chair next to Tanya’s bed.

“Tanya,” he says and takes her hand. She doesn’t flinch away from his touch. “We’re sorry to disturb your recovery but we have to ask you a few questions about what happened the night of your cousin’s wedding.”

Tanya leaves her head hanging as if she’s staring at her lap. She seems to feel like crying and Dean suspects it’s causing her even more pain than she’s already in.

“Tanya,” Dean says. “I know this must be very hard for you. Is there anything you can tell us? Was there maybe someone who promised you some kind of benefit for something they’d collect later?” Maybe some low-class demon trades in body parts instead of souls.

Tanya shakes her head. Dean can hear faint snuffling from her.

“Did the attacker say anything to you?” Cas asks.

Tanya hesitates and squeezes Castiel’s hand before she speaks.

“She said… She said: ‘I can make you see,’” she says and turns her head to face Cas.

Dean’s mind is still processing the irony of Tanya’s assailant when a sudden shriek cuts through the silence in the room.

Tanya’s let go of Cas’s hand, skids out of bed and makes a run for the door, only to come to a halt as she collides with Dean.

“What is it?” Dean asks but Tanya tries to get away, arms flailing.

“He’s, he’s…” she stumbles as Dean attempts to keep her from hitting him in her panic.

“What is he? What do you see, Tanya?”  
The door swings open and Mrs. Cooper catches Dean having her daughter in a tight grip.

“Let go of her!” she screams. “What did you do to her? Get out!”

Dean lets go of Tanya and her mother’s arms envelop her instead.

“So many eyes, so many faces,” she mumbles against her mom’s chest.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Cooper,” Dean says. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I do,” Cas says under his breath as he pushes Dean out of the room.

“Any explanation for what just happened there?” Dean asks when they reach the car.

“I’ve seen people react like this,” Cas says, resting his hands on the Impala’s roof. “She must have seen my true form.”

“What… How is that even possible?”

“Whoever took her eyes made her able to see other things instead.”

“You mean, like a sixth sense?”

“Yes. She’s able to detect things that inhabit another plane of existence. Like my angelic face, for instance. And demons. Perhaps spirits as well.”

“Poor girl… You must’ve frightened the shit out of her.”

“I’ve been told my celestial form could be considered beautiful.”

“By whom?”

Cas only replies with a sheepish smile.

Sometimes Dean gets curious what Cas looks like. The actual, Angel-of-the-Lord-Meta-Level Castiel. Not that there’s anything to complain about his Cas—the dorky little guy best friend who Dean is secretly in love with.

Not being able to catch a glimpse is probably for the best anyway. Dean is rather fond of his eyes.

“Hey, uh, Cas,” Dean says after a minute. “I was thinking… Maybe you could, you know, do something to help Tanya.”

“You mean heal her? It’s likely her ability won’t sustain when we kill the thing that’s given it to her.”

“No, I mean the whole make the blind see again deal.”

Cas shakes his head. “Dean, as you know, my powers are very limited since the Apocalypse. I can’t just magically make a set of eyes appear out of nowhere. I’m sorry.”

 

It’s past noon already when they arrive at the diner they told Sam to meet him at. Good for Dean, though, who is in desperate need for a decent portion of fat, they serve breakfast all day long. He orders eggs and bacon and sausage and Sam would certainly give him a lecture about how he’s getting too old to pump his body full with cholesterol but when he gets there, Dean has already eaten up.

Cas’s coffee, on the other hand, is still untouched as the waitress takes Sam’s order of the veggie lover’s club sandwich.

“What did the girl say?” Dean asks when she’s out of earshot.

“At first Olivia didn’t want to talk at all. She said I would think she’s crazy if she told me what really happened. But I got through to her and she admitted she and her friends were doing this oracle thing.”

“They worked a spell?” Dean says. “Please, tell me it’s not witches again.”

“No, not a spell. Apparently it’s just some harmless nursery rhyme wherein one states their wish get a hint at their future spouse.”

“Turns out it’s not harmless at all.”

The waitress brings Sam’s sandwich and after taking a bite, he resumes, “Anyway, the following night your true love is supposed to appear in your dreams.”

“But instead they died,” Cas says.

“We can’t know for sure they didn’t have this kind of dream. Could be a demon deal gone wrong. _I show you who you’re gonna marry and take your eyes in exchange,_ ” Sam reckons.

“Yeah, but what’s the point if you end up dead,” Dean says.

“What about Olivia?” Cas asks. “Her eyes are still intact, right?”

“She didn’t say the rhyme. She told her friends it wouldn’t work anyway and it’s stupid and childish.”

“So, what’s this rhyme anyway? We should try to find out if Tanya said it too,” Dean says. “Won’t be so easy though, considering how weirded out by Cas she was.”

“Why, what happened?” Sam asks.

“Apparently, whatever this thing is, it gave her the gift…or curse of discerning my true face.”

“We might have a lead on what we’re dealing with,” Sam says, retrieves a piece of paper from his pocket and slips it across the table.

“Well, this fits Tanya’s description of a she-thing,” Dean says and hands the note over to Cas.

“Saint Lucy?” he says.

“I haven’t had the time yet to do my research but I remember from an iconography class in college that she’s often depicted with her eyes on a plate,” Sam says between chewing his sandwich.

“That’s just gross,” Dean says and makes a grimace. Then he burps.

“’scuse me.” His breakfast bubbles in his stomach.

“Legend says she had to endure torture, like removal of the eyes, or that her eyes were as good as new even long after her death.”

“You rely on legends, Cas, really?” Dean says. “I thought you’ve been around at the time.”

Cas frowns. “I didn’t witness every single thing that’s occurred while I was stationed on Earth.”

Dean withstands his annoyed gaze until Cas breaks their eye-contact in lieu of continuing his speech.

“Other sources say she was sentenced to death by sword.”

“So there _is_ a connection to the other guy,” Sam notes.

“Assumingly, yes. She was also forced to marry a man despite having devoted her life and virginity to God.”

“How do we kill her?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean notes the sparkle in Sam’s eyes he gets every time there’s research to do.

“I’ll buy beer on the way back to the motel,” Dean sighs.

 

There’s tons of lore about Saint Lucy or Santa Lucia or whatever you’d like to call her. They find versions of the love oracle that originate from Scandinavia and Sam assumes the Swedish ancestors of the people in this region brought the creature with them from the Old World.

“Isn’t it a bit weird for us to kill something arisen by the grace of God?” he says. “I mean, we’ve killed pagan gods and all that. But Lucy has become what she is through her martyrdom and devotion to God, with a capital G.”

“We kill angels, Sammy,” Dean reminds him.

“Yeah, but God always valued humans more than…” His words trail off when he remembers Cas is with them.

“I understand you, Sam,” he says without seeming to be offended. “Maybe she used to be something holy. A patron saint devoted to humanity, executing my father’s goodwill. Back when he still cared, that is. But with God withdrawing from his responsibilities entirely, the initial purpose of her making got twisted and she had to find ways to survive on her own like all the gods that lost their followers to Christianity.”

“But people still worship her,” Dean argues.

“Yeah, just think of the Lucia tradition in Sweden. From what I’ve seen here, she’s a big deal over there.”

“You’re right,” Cas says, “but think of it for a moment. Nowadays it’s more of a children’s day where they dress up and eat pastries. Like Christmas or Easter, the true meaning of her day has lost its value.”

“And now she’s a killer,” Dean concludes. “Apropos of this—how do we kill her?”

“Nothing on that yet,” Sam says.

“Great,” Dean groans and pops open another beer.

He throws himself against the propped up pillows on his bed and grabs the TV remote.

“Hey, Cas,” he says after taking a swig from his bottle. “Can’t you just smite Lucy or something?”

“It’s reasonable to believe she’s still got some of God’s grace in her. As I’ve said earlier today, my power is weakened and I’m not certain I could withstand her as easily as you think.”

Dean’s instinct is to make a harsh comment on how they even benefit from having an angel to hunt with them but changes his mind before the first word leaves his lips.

He knows he sometimes treats Castiel unfairly and that he should rather encourage him in becoming a better hunter than blaming him for not making any progress in a case.

Dean is grateful to have Cas here. If it were up to him, Cas would be around all the time. But when he’s actually there, all Dean does is push him away.

It’s to prevent himself from getting hurt, Dean tells himself. But that’s bullshit. He’s afraid, that’s what he is. He’s afraid of his own fucking feelings for this heavenly creature that scares the hell out of young girls with no eyes.

Dean wonders if the sight of Cas’s true form would scare him, too.

Probably not as much as his feelings for him. And that’s possibly not an overstatement.

“Guess I’ll have to find a solution myself, then,” Sam says, looking over from the table.

“Suit yourself, Sammy,” Dean says without taking his eyes off the TV screen.

“Hey, Cas, look! _Die Hard 2_ is on.”

“Is this also a Christmas movie that’s not actually a Christmas movie?” Cas asks. Dean’s sure he isn’t really as annoyed as he tries to sound.

“There’s a lot of snow so I’d say it’s even more Christmassy than part one.”

Cas frowns but Dean doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Come on, man!” he says. “Lose the coat and get over here. And bring me the nachos, would ya.”

Sam shakes his head at him but Cas does as he’s told and lounges in the empty spot on Dean’s bed.

He comments on his favorite scenes, as he always does when he and Cas watch a movie, and offers Cas the nacho bag every now and then even though he knows he won’t take any. Dean has three beers over the course, Cas doesn’t even finish his first.

In the meantime, Sam has achieved a small breakthrough.

“I’d say we do all of the things to Lucy that were tried on her when she was under God’s protection. Stabbing, fire and blinding her,” he suggests.

“I agree,” Cas says. “We can assume she’ll fear all of these, considering there’s no-one to save her any longer. I very much doubt God will come to her rescue once more. Not after we’ve seen that he doesn’t even care when the whole world is in grave danger.”

“I’m sorry—what? You assume?” Dean asks.

“It’s our best shot,” Sam says.

“And how do we get to her?”

“One of you has to perform the ritual in order to summon her,” Cas says.

“The nursery rhyme? And that’ll work?”

“It worked for our victims,” Sam states. “But it’s probably for the best we do this tomorrow and some other place than a motel room.”

They all agree on that and Sam and Dean change into their pajamas whereas Cas retires behind the room divider. Equipped with Sam’s iPad and earphones he’s bingeing a randomly picked Netflix show while the brothers get their well-deserved rest.

 

When he gets up in the morning, Dean, for once, doesn’t feel like he’s been hit by a truck. Having a quiet night in, drinking beer and watching a movie is apparently much better for his well-being than hitting a random bar and grill and getting fucked by a stranger. Who would’ve thought that.

“Good morning, Dean, how are you?” Cas asks him.

He’s sitting at the end of Sam’s bed, watching a local news channel on mute.

“Better than yesterday,” he says.

“Sam is taking a shower. We can go out to have breakfast when he’s done,” Cas says.

He’s like a dog. So cheerful, Dean hates it.

Actually, he loves it. He loves how Cas is wishing him a good morning like he’s the freaking sun. A cute little puppy.

Ugh, maybe he should nap another ten minutes.

He pulls the pillow over his head and falls asleep again only to be woken up by Sam slapping his ass with a towel.

They have breakfast at the same place as the day before and while they wait for their food, Sam books them a log cabin in Wild River State Park, not far from here, where there’s hopefully not too many people around this time of year so they can kill a saint gone wild without disturbance.

The drive there doesn’t take long, half an hour or so, but while they enjoyed their breakfast it has started to snow and their way off the proper road won’t be doing his Baby so well.

“Wait, stop here,” Sam says all of a sudden.

“At a flower shop? Why? Are you having a date?” Dean asks.

“I just need to check if they’ve got something we could use. Be right back,” Sam says and jumps out of the car.

As he said, he’s back a few minutes later and he’s bought something.

“What’s that smell?” Dean asks.

“Myrtle,” Sam says and pulls away the wrapping paper.

“Wait, wait, wait… I know this. Cas and I saw it in Tanya’s house,” Dean says.

“Her cousin’s bridal bouquet,” Cas provides. “Myrtle symbolizes virginity and is often associated with brides and marriage. If Tanya didn’t knowingly summon Saint Lucy, the bouquet could have been what attracted her attention.”

“And by catching it she expressed her wish to get married soon, aka meeting her true love,” Sam concludes.

“Aha… So Lucy’s just taking whatever she can get. Not picky, I see,” Dean says as he steers the Impala out of the parking lot and heads for the highway.

When they arrive at the cabin, the nature around them is covered in a thick layer of white and Dean hopes their place for the night is provided with a big enough stack of firewood.

“It’s freezing,” he says as he trudges towards the cabin door.

“It’s winter,” Sam provides.

“Oh, really? Thanks, Sam, I hadn’t noticed.”

Sam looks amused as he slams the trunk shut.

It’s cold inside the cabin and it takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness in the room before he spots the fireplace. The curtains on both windows are closed and Cas walks over to one to open them, yet this doesn’t do much to brighten the room. At least the snow is reflecting some of the little sunlight they’ve got but it still sucks that it feels like nighttime at 11:40 in the morning.

When Dean has managed to make a decent fire, Cas comes up behind him with a cup of tea.

“What is this?” Dean asks.

“I thought you’d like something to warm up,” Cas says.

He looks at Cas with disgust. His go-to method for warming up is usually a few inches of cheap whiskey.

“I put a little rum in it, too,” Cas adds.

“Tastes good,” Sam says from his spot on the sofa and takes a careful sip from the hot beverage.

With a grunt Dean gets up from his crouching position, pats the bit of ash from his knee and accepts the tea cup from Cas.

“Hm,” he says, almost coughing, “you didn’t skimp on the booze.”

“I know how you like it,” Cas replies, oblivious to the innuendo, and Dean chokes a little.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” he asks after taking a seat next to Sam.

“Let’s see… We’ve got the sword, angel blades in case they also work, fire,” he says, pointing at the one Dean’s just made, “I don’t really know how we’re supposed to do the eye thing.”

“I will do it. If nothing else, at least I can manage that with my powers,” Cas says.

“Good,” Sam says. “Then we just have to decide who’s summoning her.”

“I’ll do it,” Dean says. He’s always calling dibs on doing the most dangerous stuff. Of course—he’s the older brother.

“Why? I could also do it,” Sam says.

“I said it first so it’s gonna be me,” Dean insists.

“Dean, this is not a competition,” Sam reasons.

“I’d volunteer as well but I’m certain this has to be done by a human,” Cas says.

“Great,” Dean says. “So, do I have to do anything besides reciting this stupid poem?”

“It wouldn’t hurt if you said it in front of a mirror,” Sam says.

“A mirror? Like with Bloody Mary?”

“Yes, the mirror increases the power of the spell. And you should mean it, I guess.”

“Mean what?”

“You know, that you actually want to see your future partner’s face in your dreams.”

Dean doesn’t need this. He knows exactly who he loves and he also knows that he can never be with him. Ever. It’s impossible. He’s just some fucked up guy and Cas is a powerful celestial being, older than Earth itself and even a tiny glimpse at his true form could make Dean’s head explode.

And there’s certainly not anyone else out there for him.

He’s tried, he really tried. He wanted to make it work with Cassie and Lisa but it didn’t and it’s because of this life. He can never escape it, doesn’t even want to anymore. He’ll always be a hunter and hunting and a stable relationship are two things that don’t work together.

“Okay, I understand,” he says.

Seems like he has to fake it.

“Do you want me to do it now?” he asks then.

“Whenever you’re up to it. She’ll only show up at night anyway,” Sam says.

“Okay, then… I’ll finish my tea first,” he says.

He needs to boost his confidence a little before doing this. And Cas’s brew will help with that.

“Alright,” he says when his cup is empty. “Where do we have a mirror?”

“There’s a full-length one in the bedroom,” Sam says and hands Dean the spell.

“Oh, and take this,” he says and tosses him the myrtle.

It’s still freezing in the bedroom. They should probably leave the door open so they won’t die of hypothermia when they go to bed after finishing the job. Speaking of which, there’s two twin beds, Dean realizes. This is gonna be a tight fight for Sam, he thinks.

“Okay, okay, you’ve got this,” he tells himself and breathes out.

_Think of…something. Love, right. All you want is love…and love…and…_

_Cas._

“You okay in there?” Sam calls from the other room.

“Shut up,” Dean replies. “I’m concentrating.”

Maybe his feelings for Cas are not even what he thinks they are. When has he ever been in love? Like, for real. Does he even know what being in love feels like? Lucy could totally show him someone else. Or nothing. Because there’s no-one out there for him.

What if Sammy—or worse: Cas—find out about his secret if it actually turns out to be Cas?

No no no no no….the person’s supposed to appear in his dreams. So nobody’s gonna hear or see anything.

He reads the spell. It’s not more than a whisper but it’ll do, Dean guesses.

“You done?” Sam asks when Dean walks back into the warmth of the main room.

“Yep… So,” he says, “what are we gonna do until I Love Lucy is on? There’s no TV in here and no Wi-Fi.”

“Read a book,” Sam says and takes one out of his duffel bag.

 _Jack the Ripper and Black Magic: Victorian Conspiracy Theories, Secret Societies and the Supernatural Mystique of the Whitechapel Murders,_ the title reads.

“Cheerful,” Dean notes.

Sam only huffs in response and moves a bit to get more comfortable on the sofa.

Dean decides it’s time to add more wood to the fire.

He remains sitting by the fireplace, staring into the flames. It’s peaceful, just watching the fire consume the log pieces, one after another.

“Dean?”

Cas startles him as he sits down next to him.

“Huh?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

He sounds concerned.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I was thinking about how I could have handled the situation with Tanya better,” Cas says. He’s taking towards the fire, not Dean.

“I felt bad because I couldn’t do anything to help her… But then I realized I could have at least healed her wounds. Not actually made her well again, you know, because I can’t…” Now he’s looking down at his lap.

“Anyway, but she’s still in pain and I could have taken that from her if nothing else. And then, to make it worse, I scared her by simply being there.”

“Cas, hey, look at me,” he says and Cas hesitates for a moment but Dean doesn’t continue before he does so.

“It’s not your fault the girl was frightened by you. You didn’t know what Lucy had done to her. And her wounds will heal either way. Her physical ones at least will. You can’t undo her trauma of having her eyes taken. No-one can. So stop feeling guilty for something you’re not responsible for and that you can’t change.”

“You may be right,” Cas says.

“Sure I am,” Dean insists and squeezes Cas’s shoulder in assurance. “You did nothing wrong, trust me.”

“Thank you, Dean, for listening,” Cas says and a shy smile spreads on his face.

“Any time, pal,” he says, gives the shoulder a final pat and withdraws his hand.

“Would you like some more tea with rum?” Cas asks.

“Please, I’d like that.” Now Dean’s also smiling.

Sam declines Castiel’s offer this time, telling him he wants to stay sober and awake enough to read his serial killer book.

After two more cups, Dean feels groggy and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep next to Sam on the sofa.

 

Dean’s neck is stiff when he wakes up. He’s not exactly well-rested despite having slept a few hours. He supposes it must have been hours because it’s pitch-dark outside when he looks out the window.

“What time is it?” he asks, wiping some drool away from his cheek.

“Five past seven,” Sam says.

He’s still holding that awful book but he’s made notable progress, judging from the pages still left to read.

Cas is sitting by the fire. He must have been the one who kept it alive.

“Had any interesting dreams?” Sam asks smugly.

“Not that I recall,” Dean says and stretches his arms.

“How long do you think till she shows up?”

“It’s still early,” Sam says, “could take a while.”

Dean grumbles. “Great… You hungry? I’ll make a sandwich.”

“No, thanks. I ate when you were out,” Sam says.

“Okay, well, I’m starving,” Dean says and gets up from the sofa, bones creaking.

They don’t have much for him to put on his sandwich but they bought cheese and ham and that’s perfectly alright to fill his stomach for now.

Dean ends up eating three and at nine o’clock there’s still no sign of Saint Lucy.

“Hey, how about a game of poker?” Dean suggests eventually.

“No, thanks,” Sam says. “I’m good.”

“You’re no fun,” Dean says, “Cas?”

“Of course, but I am not very good at this game,” he says and walks over from the fireplace.

“So I’ll be winning. Good,” Dean says and pulls a deck out of his bag.

As he’s shuffling the cards, Dean thinks he’s hearing something.

His hands stop.

“Dean?” Cas asks.

“Did you hear that?”

“No. Sam?”

“No,” he says, puts down his book and reaches for his gun.

“Dean, I think you better get the sword.”

Dean does so and he and Sam proceed to stand in the middle of the room, each observing another corner of the cabin. Cas is lurking by the open bedroom door, having his angel blade ready.

They wait, tense. A minute passes but nothing happens.

“Where the hell is she?” Dean whispers.

“Maybe it was just the wind,” Sam replies.

“Dean,” Cas says and he turns his head to look at him.

The angel is still watching the bedroom.

“What, Cas?”

“What do you mean?” Cas says.

“You just said my name.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says.

“But—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence because the next moment he’s thrown against the nearest wall.

Sam rushes to help him but is, too, flung across the room.

Cas, though, is able to make it to him and stops at his feet, looking down at him.

“Cas, I can’t move,” he pants.

Only when Cas bends down to him and Dean gets a better view of him, he realizes there’s something wrong with his eyes. They aren’t there.

“Cas?”

He’s coming closer into his space and all Dean can do is look at him in horror.

“Dean, what do you see? Where is she?” Cas says.

The tone of his voice is urgent but his lips haven’t moved and the words seem to have come from further away.

He’s starting to get that what he’s looking at is not actually Cas.

“Cas!” he calls. “I think she’s right in front of me but she looks like… She doesn’t look like herself.”

Not-Cas is reaching out for him. His bony fingers have claws, long and sharp enough to tuck them into his holes and cut through whatever keeps his eyes in them.

Lucy’s getting closer and Dean can smell her breath. It reeks of death and decay and he’s trying so hard to get out of her way but it’s hopeless.

She’s almost there but something happens and she turns around, furious and screaming, and Dean notices the sword tip poking out from her chest.

Her form has changed into a young woman’s in a long white dress. She must have been beautiful when she was human but now her face is gaunt and gray.

Cas is standing behind her—the real Cas, with eyes and all—, apparently able to see her now, and proceeds to make a move at her with his blade but he can’t withstand her counter attack and is knocked out. Sam, on the other hand, is back in the game now, threatening her with a burning hot poker from the fireplace.

Lucy shies away when she sees it first but a moment later Sam is on his back, Lucy hovering over him, her claws ready and about to poke at his eyes.

Dean can move again and hurries to get Lucy away from him. In the process he picks up Cas’s angel blade from the floor.

“Hey, Lucy!” he shouts and she spins around.

Dean is now only inches away from her and before she can react, he is ramming the blade into one of her eyes.

A piercing cry escapes her throat, blood is flowing from her wound and Dean pulls out only to immediately stab her in the other eye.

The thing that used to be a pious girl is wailing beneath him but it isn’t dead yet. Blindly, she’s trying to claw at anything and Dean only barely avoids losing his eyes after all.

“Try her heart, Dean!” Cas shouts, conscious again.

His shirt sleeves get ripped by Lucy’s long fingernails as his hands move towards her again but when he hits the mark, white light breaks out from her wounds, shining almost as brightly as angels, and Dean has to avert his eyes.

He’s seeing white spots when he opens his eyes again but Lucy is gone.

“Everyone okay?” he asks, turning around to Sam and Cas, both still on the floor.

“Yeah, only my head hurts a little,” Sam says.

“Probably a concussion. I’ll fix that for you,” Cas says, trying and failing to get up as fast as he’d liked.

“In a minute,” he adds and slumps down again.

 

It’s only Dean and Cas in the main room after Sam has gone to bed.

After taking a breather, Cas was eventually able to heal Sam. Then he asked Cas to provide him some of that special tea again and this and their exciting night were enough to almost have him pass out on the sofa but with a little determination, Dean managed to get him into bed.

They’re sitting next to each other on the sofa, quietly watching the fire.

Dean’s still a bit on edge after what happened tonight. Sure, he’s used to fighting monsters and such but this was one of the things that came in disguise of a loved one. And not anyone. _The_ one. Cas.

Also, he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway due to his lengthy nap today.

Sam, of course, wanted to know what Dean saw before Lucy became visible to him but he found some lame excuse, telling his brother the sight of her was terrifying and that’s not even a lie.

He looks at Cas. His eyes are reflecting the fire. They appear how they are supposed to.

Cas notices he’s being watched and asks, “Is everything alright, Dean?”

Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be? The monster’s dead and nobody got seriously hurt. It’s as good as it gets.

“Yeah,” he replies hoarsely.

“Are you sure? You can tell me,” Cas says.

His first instinct is to insist on being fine, as always.

“I don’t really feel like talking,” he says instead.

Cas nods and draws his attention back to the fire, not bothering to push him because he knows Dean would only get angry and the peacefulness of the moment would be ruined.

“Cas,” he says after a while.

Cas looks at him, expectantly, but Dean doesn’t even know what he intended to say.

“It was you.”

Dean’s heart skips a few beats after he’s said this.

“What was?” Cas asks.

He tries to keep his breathing calm but he feels like panicking.

“I saw you. When Lucy came to me.”

Cas furrows his brows.

“I mean, it wasn’t _you_ you. Lucy-You didn’t have eyes. It was disgusting.”

His frown doesn’t falter. “Why would she choose my form to appear before you?”

Dean’s palms are sweaty. There can be the most terrible creature chasing his ass and he doesn’t break a sweat but talking about…admitting his feelings is giving him more anxiety than all of Hell’s and Purgatory’s scum combined.

“Cas, I…” His voice is fucking trembling.

“Dean, are you saying that—”

Dean silences him with a kiss.

He needed to do this before it’s too late. Needed to feel Cas’s lips against his before he rejects him.

The kiss only lasts for a few seconds. When Dean pulls back, he doesn’t dare to look at Cas.

He didn’t kiss back. Of course, he didn’t kiss back. Because he doesn’t love him. Not like this.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“Please, can we just pretend this never happened?” Dean says.

His cheeks and ears are feeling red-hot and he’s hiding his face in his hands as he tries to summon the strength to stand up and leave.

Then there’s the warm touch of Cas’s hand on his back.

“Dean, are you in love with me? Is this the meaning of all this?” Cas asks.

The way he says it speaks of genuine confusion but he’s being so unbearably patient with Dean, it’s infuriating. Why can’t Cas just get mad and tell him what’s what?

“Yes!” he says, a little too loud but he’s not really worried to have woken up Sam.

“Yes,” he repeats, lowering his voice. “Have I pleased you already?”

He’s angry. Not at Cas but himself.

“Now tell me to fuck off or whatever. I get it.”

“No,” Cas says.

Just that. _No._

“No?”

“No,” Cas sighs and then he’s kissing Dean.

_What the fuck is going on?_

“Cas,” Dean breathes against Cas’s lips.

Cas’s thumb keeps drawing circles on his cheek after they’ve parted enough to look each other in the eye.

“I love you, Dean,” he says. “And if you love me too, then—”

“I do,” Dean interrupts him. “I do. I… I love you.”

The last bit was hard to get across his lips but he had to get it out.

“You’re the best man I’ve ever known and the best friend I could’ve wished for. Ever. You have no idea how grateful I am to have been accepted into your family,” Cas says and Dean just wants him to stop. He can’t bear to hear Castiel’s praise. So Dean presses their lips together once more.

This kiss now lasts a lot longer than the other two. And it’s deeper and more desperate, all their feelings pouring into it.

Dean has both hands in Cas’s hair. It’s so soft and warm. Then, one hand slides down onto his chest. He can feel firm muscles underneath the shirt.

His hand moves lower, sneaking around to Cas’s back, and pulls the shirt out of his slacks so he is finally able to touch skin.

Cas is wearing _way_ too many clothes. Dean has to push the jacket and coat to the side to touch him which is why these things have to go ASAP.

Dean drags at Castiel’s trench coat, edging it over his shoulders, until—at last!—Cas slips his arms out as well.

Next on the list is the suit jacket. This one he’s getting rid of more smoothly.

It’s followed by the tie and when Cas begins to unbutton his shirt, Dean decides to copy him and also strips out of his ruined flannel and undershirt.

They kiss again, Dean’s lips wandering slowly down to Castiel’s neck. His hands keep touching bare skin and eventually reach Cas’s belt.

Dean stops there to observe Cas’s face.

“Dean?” Cas asks.

“Cas, are you okay with this? Because you have to know if we get naked, I want you. I want you inside me.”

In response Cas pushes Dean’s hands of the way and starts to unbuckle his belt.

Dumfounded for a moment, Dean just stares before opening his own pants and getting rid of them.

Both are naked from head to toe now and Dean quickly leaves the couch to search his jacket for the packet of lube he knows is still in there and rushes back to Cas with it, straddling him.

“Okay, okay,” Dean babbles. He’s nervous and he can’t even remember the last time he’s been nervous before sex.

“Give me a minute,” he says, fumbling with the packet. “I’m just a little… I, uh, I’m a bit tender down there and—”

Cas has taken the lube from him, rips the packet open and pours some on his fingers.

Dean is certain to see something like determination in his eyes and prepares himself for the pain to come when Cas first touches his rim but the finger glides in with ease and it feels different from how it should. It’s warm and tingles slightly.

“Cas, did you just…?”

“I want to make this good for you,” he says, his free hand caressing the back of Dean’s neck.

There’s so much love in his words, Dean almost can’t take it.

This is how it should be, Dean thinks. Someone taking his time with him. Taking care and making sure not to hurt him and what’s important is that Dean lets him.

There’s no hurry in what Cas does or the negligence that comes along with his usual, intoxicated hook-ups.

Dean’s forehead is resting against Cas’s while the angel prepares him and he is able to breathe in his scent with every inhale.

“Alright,” Dean says after a while, tugging at Cas’s arm to signal him he’s ready.

He squirts the rest of the lube into his hand and slicks up Castiel’s cock. It’s the first time he touches him there and Cas gasps at the contact.

Dean moves slightly on his knees until he’s in the right position to sink down onto swollen head and breathes out, trying to relax but Cas has done a thorough job with his fingers and his cock glides in easily.

“I love you,” he sighs.

The words come out of his mouth like a reflex now that he’s feeling Cas the way he is.

Dean begins to move, slowly, and Cas pulls his head closer to kiss him.

It’s quiet in the room, almost. There’s their small gasps and the sounds of skin moving against skin and the cracking of burning wood, Sam’s faint snores audible through the closed door.

The fire warms Dean’s back. He’s bordering on being too hot. His skin glistens with sweat and when Cas wraps a hand around him and begins to pump his cock in earnest he feels like he’ll burst into flames any second.

He needs some time to catch his breath and cool down after they’ve finished.

Cas keeps stroking his head, patiently waiting until Dean has found the strength to get off of him.

 

Dean wakes up on the sofa in Castiel’s arms.

They got dressed again after cleaning up the night before and sometime after that, Dean doesn’t know when, he fell asleep.

Cas’s coat is draped around his shoulders and the fire has shrunken to embers.

“Hey,” Dean says.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas replies. “We got more snow overnight.”

“Ah, crap,” Dean says and gets up to look outside.

“We should leave before it starts to snow again. Wanna help get the car snow-free?” he asks and Cas, in response, puts on his coat.

It’s a lot but not too much to drive yet.

Dean gets a brush from the trunk for Cas and an ice scraper for himself.

With the effort of two people, the job of getting his Baby ready to leave is done soon and Dean ambushes Cas with a snowball when he doesn’t watch out. He hits him right in the back of the head.

It’s funny but he also feels guilty when he sees the look on Cas’s face and rushes over to apologize.

“Sorry,” he says and brushes the snow out of Cas’s hair. “I was aiming for your back.”

“Sure you were,” Cas says and rolls his eyes.

Dean kisses him.

“Come on,” he says, “let’s get inside and see if Sam is still alive and get him going.”

It turns out that his brother is already up but if he’s seen what they were doing outside, he doesn’t comment on it.

The roads are in a shitty condition and it takes much longer to get back to the bunker than it usually would but Dean doesn’t really mind. He’s happy and pleasantly surprised, although he’d hoped for it, when, at bedtime, Cas follows him into his room.

This, however, Sam notices, yet again he doesn’t say anything. They can talk about this in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Merry Christmas  
> 


End file.
